The first blossoms of the spring season’s colors have exploded, coaxed on by the sun and the rains.
Sunbeams earthward-bound brighten the dark seasons around this globe—a light seen by many, but not all. Many last breaths drawn, seasons of life for many over. And for many more that remain—sorrowful eyes view the natural order of life that reemerges, informing us all of what has been and what is.
Personal nightmares fail to recede, as nighttime awakenings show an arm gently reaching across to feel and hold warmth that is no longer there—as the light of gray dawn slowly reveals a half-occupied bed.
The favorite foods, no longer bought, the special songs, once remembered, with smiles—no longer sung, now listened to with humbling silence. The places and events, defined by time and emotion—now mere footnotes, captured snapshots along the highways of life: the dates, pre- and post-, before and after.
How do we begin to search for answers—are there any answers—that will relieve and release us; to tame our minds, lift our spirits, to give us ease of being, for what has befallen us?
Are memories a blessing or a curse—or both? And what remains that we dare not forget: the connections and intimacies, over a lifetime’s journey? Are the remembrances of those sacred rituals with someone enough to pull us through? Like this new, untrodden path—we now must navigate the geography of our bruised hearts moving forward. Can we seek direction from our love’s compass as we stumble along—is it enough?
And yet, the first blossoms have arrived again, on time, for their brief visit on this good earth—not unlike our own short stay here. For we are all subject to the winds, both gentle and blustery, that tell us our time has come—and to accept—as petals do, the falling from stems and branches, that new growth will appear and fruit will ripen heavy and sweet on branches and vines.
Healing will come—faith is a verb.